and still more tomorrow
by Medie
Summary: Laura Holt sweeps into his life with the subtlety of a hurricane. Murphy's always loved a good storm.


**title:** and still more tomorrow  
**author:** **medie**  
**rating:** PG13  
**word count:** 1260  
**pairing:** Murphy/Laura UA  
**note:** I wrote this for **romanticalgirl** for **yuletide** who wanted Murphy/Laura unrequited. I'd never written Remington Steele before, but have been in love with the show for years and Oh _Murphy_. sigh Thanks so much to **havocthecat**, **legoline**, **larakailyn** and **stargazercmc**. Lifesavers the lot of you!  
**summary:** Laura Holt sweeps into his life with the subtlety of a hurricane. Murphy's always loved a good storm.

**and still more tomorrow**

Havenhurst is more clearing house than detective agency. It compiles statistics, sets solve rates, and concerns itself with bottom lines. Murphy chases cheating spouses and runaway socialites and tells himself he's making his bones. That all he has to do is keep hitting his quotas and he'll get the real cases. He tells himself he's a detective, some days he even believes it.

Most days he punches the clock and waits for the weekend.

-

Laura Holt sweeps into his life with the subtlety of a hurricane. Murphy's always loved a good storm.

She's wearing that hat when he sees her, tilted at an angle, and looking like something out of those old movies his grandmother loves. Murphy loves Laura on sight.

He's dead tired, grimy and sore from a night sitting in a car, and she grins at him. "I should see the other guy, right?" she says.

Murphy musters a grin and a nod. "Yeah, all five feet nothing of her." Babysitting a councilman's daughter with a taste for the nose candy. "Murphy Michaels." He holds out his hand and she shakes it firmly.

"Laura Holt," she responds. She's silent for a moment, looking him over from beneath that hat, and then she nods. "Get cleaned up and then find my office."

He's halfway down the hall before he thinks to ask why.

-

That's always how it is with them. Laura decides, Murphy follows. He knows what the others think. He doesn't miss Sandy's little knowing smiles; knows the rumors around the office can be traced back to Alan's door.

Laura says nothing, just keeps working. She always keeps working. She's the best detective Havenhurst has and he knows he's damn lucky to be the one sitting across from her.

"You should be angry," he tells her. "You know what they think." He's angry with them, furious, for thinking Laura would be so unprofessional. She's better than that.

He's angrier with himself for wishing she wasn't.

Laura smiles, holding out a hand. "Pass the egg foo yung," is all she says.

"Robot," he accuses, voice laden with affection.

Her smile turns to a snicker. "Just give me the damn box, Murph."

He passes it over. "_Cranky_ robot too."

-

"There's no point in getting angry," Laura tells him later. They're at 'the office' (a rundown motel room somewhere Murphy doesn't like to think about much, his mother would be furious for bringing a girl here) and she's sprawled out on her stomach on the bed. "Really."

Murphy shifts, a spring in the worn chair stabbing him in the leg. "There's no _point_? Laura, you know what they think."

She looks up from the file to grin cheekily at him. "Yes, I know exactly what they think. I'm a private detective, Murph."

"And better at it than any of them," he vows. There's no one at the agency better than Laura.

She smiles, chewing her pencil. "Maybe," she decides, using the pencil to push a page out of her way. "It doesn't matter what they think, Murphy."

"It matters to me," he says.

"We're partners, Murphy," she smiles. "Alan, Carl, Sandy - they can think what they want. You're my partner, I can trust you, and _that_ is what matters to me."

The pattern of headlights flickers against the wall, catching her attention.

"That's him," she yelps and they both scramble for the camera. There's a crooked congressman on the hook and that beats adultery cases any day.

-

Laura laughs, pressing herself against him. Her pupils are dilated, her cheeks are flushed and there's alcohol on her breath. She leans against him, palming him through his jeans, and Murphy sucks in a breath.

"Going my way, cowboy?" she asks. Her free hand presses against his chest, her palm warm through the fabric of his shirt.

Murphy's fingers dig into her hip and the bartender smirks at him. "Whoa there, cowgirl," he says, turning her around. "Think you've had a little too much to drink."

She grins at him, leaning closer to whisper into his ear. He can barely hear her over the twang of the country music as she says, "They're heading outside," she says of their targets.

"You sure?" he murmurs, turning his face to her neck. Laura tilts her head back in invitation and he takes it. Her skin beneath his lips is silky-smooth and when she sighs, relaxing against him, Murphy almost forgets why they're here. What's a chemist selling a perfume formula in comparison to this?

"Mmhmm," Laura says, her voice soft. "We need to move."

Move. Right. It takes a moment to get his body to respond and another moment for his brain to catch up. Laura's already stepping away from him, crooking a finger playfully at him to follow.

He does, ignoring the smirks on the faces of the men they pass. They don't realize this is the best part of the show and the curtain falls the second they cross the threshold.

Outside, in the cool night air, Laura's all business and Murphy's bereft.

-

It becomes habit to play the amorous couple after a while. They fall into the roles so easily that Murphy gets to wondering. They play everything from honeymooners in Carmel following a lawyer to engaged artists chasing a forger in Santa Barbara.

Every time Laura looks at him with that sparkle in her smile, Murphy wonders.

-

He never quite brings himself to ask.

-

She's pliant beneath him, soft and warm, and oh, so beautiful. Murphy skims his hands over her hips and Laura arches into him. She opens her mouth, welcoming his, and he thinks he's lost. He can almost pretend this isn't a lie.

He hears the telltale click of the camera and feels Laura tense.

Reality shatters the illusion and Murphy lifts his head. She looks up at him and smiles.

Murphy looks away.

-

"Murphy," Laura begins, an uncomfortable look on her face.

He knows what she's going to say. Shouldering their gear, he gives her his best harmless grin. It's fooled more than most, but not Laura. Never Laura. She pretends for his sake and he's almost glad. "Grab the tripod, will ya?" he says, heading for the door.

"Sure," she says.

Murphy closes his eyes against the relief in her voice.

-

Laura wakes him up at 2 o'clock with an excited gleam in her eye. Murphy rubs sleep out of his and blinks blearily at her. "This had better be good," he says around a yawn.

"Oh it is." She shoulders past him into his apartment. "You got any champagne?"

"It's two-something in the morning, Laura," he says, shuffling after her. "Why am I looking for champagne?"

"Because," she opens his refrigerator, poking around. "I'm in the mood to celebrate."

"Also the mood to be cryptic." He props his shoulder against the doorframe to watch her. "You feel like sharing?"

Laura decides to settle on beer, pulling two bottles out. "I'm leaving Havenhurst and founding my own agency." She presents one of the bottles to him. "Wanna come?"

It's the first time he says no to her.

-

It's also pretty much the last. A month of cheating spouses, deadbeat dads, and one missing poodle later, Murphy's had enough. He's out the door before the ink on his letter of resignation's even dry.

The fact Laura has a desk waiting for him says something. Whether it's about her intuitive abilities or his predictability, well, that Murphy doesn't ask.

It's just another thing he doesn't want to know. 


End file.
